While I am not surprised by what is happening in Tehran, I am shocked and saddened at its course.

I wouldn't have expected myself to be as gravely affected by the images, by the Tweets, by the words of the scholars and theologians who've been interviewed. I certainly did not expect to be this angry at or disappointed in President Obama, for whom I cast my first ballot ever. And to be honest, I kept it together fairly well until I finally watched the video of Neda Agha-Soltan's death. Since then, I find myself dissolving into tears frequently, and unable to process the myriad articles and blog posts and news stories. I mean that quite literally -- I read the same sentence over and over, keep rewinding the clips, and somehow the words just don't come together in any comprehensible way.

So I decided that since I can't control or comprehend or, frankly, deal with what's going on back home, I would make halva in honor of the brave, willful, hopeful Iranians who have spilled their blood in the streets while the Persian diaspora looks on.

We Iranians are a people for whom food is sacred. Like most ancient
civilizations, we still eat dishes that have survived invasions,
dynastic changes, and cultural revolutions. Our halva is quite different from those you are probably familiar with (which we call "halvardeh"). It's a sweet, slightly bitter, highly fragrant and somewhat dense paste, traditionally made and eaten during occasions of mourning -- wakes, memorials, even simply to honor a lost loved one. It seemed a fitting food to come from my kitchen these days.

Persian Halva

1 c. white granulated sugar

1/2 c. water

1/4 c. rosewater

3-4 threads good quality saffron

1 c. unsalted butter

1-1/2 c. white flour

Heat sugar and water in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Add the rosewater and saffron, cover and remove from heat.

Melt the butter gently over low heat; do not allow it to brown. Add the flour, stirring to create a "roux". Keep stirring (I use a wooden spoon) until it takes on a deep gold color and begins to smell quite nutty -- about 7-10 minutes*.

Slowly add the sugar syrup to the flour paste, stirring well to incorporate completely.

Turn the paste out onto a serving plate and press into place -- it should be about 1/3" or so thick. Press patterns into the halva using the back of a spoon or the tines of a fork. Allow to cool, and serve with hot tea.

*I like my halva with a little more color; if you prefer it sweeter and less "burnt" cook it a bit less. Just make sure to cook off the raw flour taste.

Yes, indeed. Tomorrow is the first day of Spring, which means that tonight at 10:48 Pacific Standard Time, we celebrate Persian New Year.

Last minute obligations are precluding us from making it to Los Angeles as we'd hoped, so I'm cobbling together a Haft Sinn from last year's provisions. It will do, though it can't possibly hold a candle to my mom's. Dinner tonight is the traditional Sabzi Polo Mahi-- my kid brother is braving the Persian market to pick up a smoked fish and green garlic.

We miss our family muchly, but in the past six weeks of living together, my brother and I have learned that we have each other through thick and thin, as different as we may be, and despite the decade separating us.

As we jumped over the fires last night, I couldn't help but think how different last year was -- all I wanted to do was leave the prior year behind, to move on, to purge the sadness and anger of the Persian year 1385. This year, I am thankful that 1386's hardships and sadness were all steps toward growth and strength. All the people I love are in a much better place, and the upcoming year can only build upon the foundation that is solidly in place.

To all of you who follow along every day, week, month -- you don't know how much your comments and emails mean. To each of you who has been a confidante and friend, thank you! And of my family in Los Angeles, I beg your forgiveness, for I know that our last minute cancellation has caused major disappointment. I love you dearly.

Here at Gastronomie, we have not one, not two, but THREE gifts for you this year. However, we are only releasing information on the first prize today, and not because we don't love you. No, we just aren't READY to release everything at once. So, once you've read about our cool Persian Pantry, and checked out the amazing prizes on offer by other bloggers -- West Coast bloggers' donations are here; the rest of them are most easily found here.

Rob-e Anaar, or pomegranate paste. This is different from the pomegranate molasses you fine in most markets. You'll see why when you receive it

Sumac, the dried and crushed berries of the poisonous plant. Sprinkle it on Basmati rice, fry up a few kabab, and you have a perfect Chelo Kabab

Finally, I'll be putting together a selection of sweets and other goodies based on the winner's requests

If you want to bid on this item, PLEASE go to the donation page and bid a minimum of $10 for one raffle ticket. Specify prize number UW38 for the Persian Pantry in the "Personal Message" section of the form, and PLEASE make sure to allow us to see your email address so we can contact you if you win.

Raffle winners will be announced on January 15, 2007 (big "woot-woot" to Derrick, here, as we actually wrote all y'all's names on slips of paper and did drawings last year. He's taking us into the 20th century with a randomizer application.)

So, really, head on over and make a donation. Good things will happen, and you'll feel good about doing it, too!

This, my dears, is a bread bakery. It happens to be at the back of Mt. Damavand grocery store in Fremont, right next to the Halal butcher counter.

As you cantell from the sign, one pays for their bread at the counter at the front of the store and is issued a token (a few sitting on the ledge, above) for each loaf. The bread is baked fresh to order while you do the rest of your shopping.

On this particular day, they were baking Barbari bread, which is a bit more leavened than most of our breads, with a more open but slightly drier texture. These 2+ foot loaves, like most fresh bread, really ought to be eaten within a few days.

Of course, C and I had polished off a third of the loaf before we pulled in to our garage. Another third was eaten that night with panir-o-sabzi (French feta, basil, mint, scallions and/or tarragon, wrapped in the bread).

The next morning, I made my breakfast of the remaining bread, lightly toasted and smeared with sweet cream butter and moraaba (preserves/jams) or asaal (honey). Washed down with a cup of hot Persian tea, this was a breakfast from heaven.

A break in the damp gloom of San Francisco... an afternoon of such warm sun in Manhattan that gloves and scarves become unnecessary... and in Denver, it seems possible to go skiing in little more than a tee shirt.

Moments like this serve as the first reminder that Persian New Year is creeping closer... I can almost smell smoked fish in the fragrance of a hundred fireplaces burning. Hyacinths bursting into bloom at the market remind me to start my sabz-e soon.

Lastyear, I shared a few traditions, stories and recipes; this year, I'll bring you more goodies, including a photographic journal of my purchases for this most revered holiday.

I spent several hours at the Fancy Food Show this week -- there's nothing like walking the Moscone floor, going from caramels to cheese to chips and back again to test the fortitude of one's stomach. Personally, I have a limited daily tolerance, and I really have respect for the food buyers who do this three times a year, three days at a time... not to mention all the off-site tastings and events they attend.

But the real point of this post is this: Mashti Malone, makers of the Persian ice creams I grew up eating, the people who brought a taste of Tehran summers to Tehrangeles... well, they're all grown up and going Whole Foods on us.

I'm thrilled. Really. I love seeing my ham-vatan, my countrymen, attaining success. But my first question of Mashti Shirvani, the president of Mashti Malone was: "are you changing the packaging for the Persian markets, too?!?" Because that ubiquitous clear plastic tub with its pink and blue "Fingilishi" (Farsi-English hybrid, the national language of Tehrangeles) speaks volumes.

On October 8th, 2005, a devastating earthquake ravaged the Northern region of Pakistan, leaving over 70,000 people dead, and another 100,000 injured.

This says nothing of the 3 million people people whose villages were utterly decimated, and livelihoods destroyed. Now, two months later, the casualties are set to rise again -- exposure and starvation as a result of the bitter cold of winter are challenging the relief efforts and threatening to kill countless more people.

And so it is that the Food Blogging Community brings you a Menu For Hope. All the money we raise will benefit Unicef, and earmarked specifically for the earthquake region.

I'm thrilled to be participating with TWO items up for dibs this time around.

No, this isn't some weird fetish post about staying in the bath so long your skin turns pruney.

Rather, it's one man's (neurotic) quest to "Give Prunes Their Due!" I don't really know what prunes are due... maybe a better name? I did notice that the nice folks over at Sunkist are calling them "Dried Plums" now. Anyway.

Of course, because I love and adore David, and think he's the neatest thing since Pierre Herme macarons, I couldn't pass up the chance to partake in this neat event. Then, a funny thing happened.

I rediscovered one of my very favorite Persian recipes: Toss Kabab (or Tas Kebab, as you wish). My nanny used to make this dish many moons ago, and the taste of it is utterly comforting to me. C put this on the "top 10 dishes" list, so I hope it's not just my childhood memories.

My latest for KQED is up... I finally made it to Papa's Restaurant in Berkeley.

Not my favorite Persian restaurant, but certainly good enough for those days when we need a "fix", and don't have it in us to drive across the bridge. One of these days, we're going to have to do a crawl of the place in Fremont I've been told about.

In other news, it's been a VERY busy couple of weeks between our travels, C's folks being in town and our car's radiator saying "sayonara"--HUGE props to C for negotiating us a GREAT deal on a FAB new car.